


Vademecum

by spacesharks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Other, Thingstiel, Trueform Castiel, emetophobia warning, i'm going to tag it as that i don't. give a shit., sorta - Freeform, starstiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 14:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacesharks/pseuds/spacesharks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jimmy feels sick and everything sorta goes downhill from there</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yehaw this is the first fic I've actually managed to muscle through and that has like. some hope of completing. it's gonna be in parts or whatever i don't know how many yet.

For a moment, Jimmy feels like he’s going to vomit. There’s a sickly hot churning feeling whirling in his gut, pushing, forcing its way up towards his throat. Despite this, though, the heat tries to cling to his insides, latching onto his bones, his heart, and eventually slithers its way into his lungs.

It’s almost as if he can’t breathe, like thick, hot water is jammed down his windpipe. But he’s not choking, exactly, or blue in the face. But something keeps pushing the warmth _up_. Jimmy shudders, wobbling, and then falls to his knees, heaving and coughing harder than he has ever in his life. Realizing its efforts are futile, the alien warmth allows itself to be pushed up and out of Jimmy’s body. He coughs until it’s all gone, all out, like hacking out ocean water. He half-expects to see a puddle of salt water at his knees when he lets what just happened and his current situation sink in.

He’s control of his own body again, and Castiel is gone.

Taking deep, shuddering breaths, Jimmy opens his eyes (when had he even closed them?) and sees the puddle he had expected. Or, well, not exactly.

It’s not especially large. About your average rain-puddle size, though Jimmy does find it surprising he could cough up that much of it. The thing that really strikes him, however, is the fact that it’s glowing. Lighting up the majority of the room, in fact. Hovering over it, Jimmy peers at what appears to be a blue-white puddle of liquid stardust.

And he knows exactly who the stardust is.

“Castiel?” He asks softly, hands coming to cup what he can of the pool of light. Some of it seeps through his fingers, like warm sand, pouring back in the rest of the puddle on the ground. A deal of it stays pooled in his hands, though, and it stirs, flashing groggily; almost in irritation. An unspoken statement flashes across Jimmy’s mind: Don’t ask stupid questions. He can’t help but smile, if only a little.

The smile doesn’t hold for long, though, replaced by worry and long-dormant exhaustion. He forces himself to remain conscious, starring at the collection of liquid angel in his hands. Confused, to be put simply, and winded. “Okay, so what… what just happened?” He asks, bringing Castiel closer to his face. The angel, however, doesn’t respond, just shifts in Jimmy’s hand weakly. “…Alright. Any reason you aren’t talking to me? I mean, granted, that was kind of a lot but… come on.” The human presses, but still, to no avail. He huffs out an aggravated sigh, leaning against the bed in the crummy motel room Cas apparently had them stationed in. Wait. In a motel, near people. With no vessel. The human peers down at the angel in his palms again, raising a brow. “Okay, uhm.. flash once if it’s because you _can’t_ talk to me.” And to his credit, Castiel briefly lights himself before returning to his gentle glow.

Jimmy fights the urge to run his hand through his hair, afraid of dropping the rest of his angel. He takes a deep, stressed inhale and lets it back out. “Okay. You’re out of the driver’s seat for now, which leaves me basically on my own. With no money, probably. Or way to get around. And probably with demons on our trail.” He sags against the bed frame. “Awesome.” Castiel does nothing but sulkily stir in his palms. He tries his best to sort out their predicament, but realizes that’s easier said than done, seeing as he has no idea where Cas has dropped them off, not to mention that he’s so starving and tired, it’s a wonder his brain is even working at all. Rising to his feet, careful to keep some portion of the angel cupped in his hands, he regards the bumpy motel bed in front of him. The promising, more than likely warm motel bed in front of him.

He hasn’t really slept in years, after all.

Castiel seems to pick up his thought process, flashing and roiling in aggravation, even the bits of him still on the floor. “Hey, hey, calm down!” Jimmy says, allowing himself to lose another small portion of his own little liquefied angel to the ground to clamp a hand on top of the rest of him in his palm. Cas beats against him, warm with light peaking through Jimmy’s skin. “Look, Cas, I need to sleep. You’re not in here to keep me up any more, and I haven’t slept in literally, _years_. A few hours won’t get us killed,” He reasons, but honestly, he’s not so sure. “You can just wake me up if something happens.”

The angel still doesn’t seem to favor the plan, but relents, calming himself into an undisturbed pool of light again. Even going as far as to dim his light a little, but Jimmy still figures it’s too bright. Someone could catch it through the windows, or if they came in. “We need to hide you somewhere..” He says, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. He leans down again, allowing Cas to flow smoothly back into the rest of himself. He straightens himself again, looking for any good potential spots, but not finding any that look suitable enough. He doesn’t want Castiel separated from him- so he counts the bathroom out. But he can’t stay out in the open. He catches something moving in his peripheral vision, and catches Cas snaking himself under the bed. In some sort of motion that’s almost slug-like, but also smooth and steady, like water rolling down a hill. “Well, that works.”

He lifts his head, checking for any silhouettes, just in case anybody saw, and crosses the room to draw the curtains. He locks the door as well, for extra measure, and then makes his way back on the bed, sitting down and toeing off his shoes and socks. He undoes his tie as well and shrugs his jacket off, leaving both on the night stand by the bed. He lies down, finally, placing his head on the pillow and burrowing down under the sheets, heavy exhaustion hitting him like a lead weight. He tries not to worry about the hunger clawing at his stomach, or the worry lurking in the back of his mind. He buries his cheek deeper into his pillow, but before his eyes slide closed and he allows himself to be pulled under into deep, black sleep, he murmurs out a small, “Goodnight, Castiel.”

He thinks he sees the other ebb out from other the bed a fraction in response.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas and Jimmy try and get their shit together

Jimmy awakes to knocking on the door.

Reluctantly, he peels his eyes open, vision foggy from sleep and still feeling rather groggy. The knocking repeats, sharper, and he winces at the noise. He props himself up on one elbow, rubbing at his eyes, and catches something bright even against what faint amount of sunlight that manages to filter through the curtains. His eyes widen a little.

Oh. That was right. Jimmy was on his own, and Castiel was busy being a pool of stardust.

Another pound sounds on the door.

“Just a minute!” Jimmy calls, springing out of the bed. He leans down, checking under the bed frame, seeing that Castiel is pushed as far as he can against the wall. Scrambling, Jimmy pulls on his shoes and socks, dashing towards the door as the knocking intensifies and grows more impatient. Still looking disheveled from sleep, hair tousled and clothes ruffled, he opens the door. He wedges his way into the doorway, in the small space he has it cracked, hoping to block off the view of the young woman in the middle of another knock.

Her vague looks of surprise morphs back into a more affronted one. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to move out of the room or pay for an extra night.”

For a moment, Jimmy thinks she’s kidding. Cas actually _properly_ rented out the room? “Uhm… right, no! Of course. I’ll be out in just a little while, I promise. I was just, uh, getting my things together.”

She squints at him a little before giving him a nod of her head, moving back, and he instantly closes the door, locking it again. He breathes out a small sigh, slumping against its surface, and lets his gaze trail back to under the bed. He raises a brow. “You can come out now.”

Jimmy watches as Castiel comes out from under the bed frame, again in that strange, mesmerizing sort of water-flow motion. He notes that the angel’s movements are a little less sluggish, and that offers him some small relief. He moves to collect his things, which were very few. He smoothes out his shirt, fixes the buttons, and slides his sport jacket and overcoat on. He fixes his hair, too, as best he can, getting it to stand flat against his head. Though a few stubborn tuffs stand upwards, but Jimmy figures he looks decent enough. He turns a look over his shoulder, seeing the angel lingering close to the bed. Making his way back towards Cas, he leans to his level.

“Alright, so… how am I gonna carry around a bunch of… liquid angel without anyone noticing,” Jimmy wonders out loud, turning a contemplative look on said liquid-angel in question. He briefly thinks about how the fact that Cas is pretty big doesn’t help.

Castiel seems to pick up on this- and it wouldn’t surprise him if the angel could still read his thoughts- and it’s all Jimmy can do than to watch in silent fascination as he gradually… folds and bends in on himself. Churning and twisting until he’s roughly the size of a fist. Jimmy stares, vaguely amazed, and also wondering why he hadn’t just shown he could do that before.

Cautiously, he reaches out a hand to scoop Castiel towards him. His fingers brush against the angel, and feeling him, it’s just- it’s _strange_. Jimmy remembers the hot, dense feeling clinging to his body, fighting against being pushed up and out, and he hadn’t really thought of the sensation of holding him last night, except for his protesting beating against his hands, he had been too numb and tired to pick it out. But now that he and Castiel are both rested, it seems, it’s all different. He is liquid and thick, like and producing a steady heat, like boiled molasses. But he also feels like nothing, and Jimmy’s hand feels it’s suspended in water, drifting through nothing and still cupping something that is clearly there. It’s odd, to say in the least, but bitterly, unsurprisingly expectant. This is _his_ life, after all.

The angel makes no quarrels to being herded closer to Jimmy by one hand, and he, in all of his clever, innovative glory, does the first thing that comes to mind.

He tucks Castiel into his trench coat.

Jimmy can’t tell if Cas minds this either, but he’ll assume he doesn’t, because there isn’t any outraged, angry boiling under the fabric. Not so much as an irritated flicker. It even appears the other is trying to dim his light considerably, and the way it filters through can be passed off as nothing. A trick of the light, maybe, or the glow of cell phone screen. For a brief moment, a flash of worry hits him- the angel isn’t hurting himself, doing this, is he? Jimmy is not an angel- he’s been barred inside his own body with one for years, and still, he doesn’t think he has any idea- or any hope- of even vaguely understanding how they work. But still, he can’t imagine being bent in on yourself and suppressing every bit of strength you have until it muddles out as a very comfortable experience. He almost thinks to ask, only to remember the other will not answer him anyways. Maybe when they get far away enough from any humanity.

Both of them stand there for a moment; Jimmy and the angel. Facing the door as if it might open some gaping maw, lined with horrible teeth and swallow them whole- or at least, he is, anyways. He can’t say much for Castiel, though as he tunes into that steady hum against his side, he can gather the other is… apprehensive, perhaps? For whatever reason, that gives him comfort. He is not the only one who is nervous. It takes him a moment to realize the only thing that would’ve been more terrifying than anything that could happen outside these walls would have been to face it alone.

But he is not alone.

Sucking in a deep breath, Jimmy opens the door and walks out without thinking to pay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cas and Jimmy hitch a bus, and Jimmy swallows some fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa warning for those who aren't cool with like..... fire,, I guess  
> I thought I was going somewhere with this chapter apologies

After walking out, Jimmy realizes that they have no plan. After walking through what seemed to be an entire city (which he had, thankfully, found out was in Massachusetts), it finally hits him just how bad that was. Especially when the consideration to his tired legs and empty stomach was added to all their problems.

He fishes around his pockets, not expecting to find anything, but to his surprise, he finds some crumpled dollar bills and some change, not to mention Cas’s old phone. Remarkably, the thing still works. Jimmy arches his brows- checking them into a motel room, keeping his phone…

“You’re just full of surprises,” He mumbles.

He feels Castiel push against his side, not sure if the angel regarded it as a compliment or as unappreciated snark. He’s not sure what he intended it as, himself.

Jimmy counts up their money- more than he thought the angel would bother keeping on them- and figures it’s enough to buy him something to eat. He is swayed towards the thought of burgers- but then he remembers what happened with Famine, and he’s not so sure about burgers anymore. He gets something else relatively cheap at a diner (with the company he’s been hanging around, it’s not his fault he may be developing some habits), a meal of dry chicken and soggy mashed potatoes and gravy. Jimmy’s not complaining, though, with how hungry he is, he’d be ready to eat just about anything that wasn’t red meat. He doesn’t think he’ll be going back to ground beef for awhile.

The whole while, Castiel stirs impatiently, bumping against Jimmy’s ribs every time he thinks he’s taking too long to eat. Which is apparently nearly every moment he does actually spend eating, when he’s not subtly trying to get the little bastard to calm down and _wait_ for a little bit. Jimmy pays the second he’s done with his food, just so he can get out the door and quell Cas’s constant need to bug him.

Feeling better with a full stomach, he attempts to work out ‘The Plan’ all by himself, seeing as the angel won’t be much help. He could call the Winchesters, but what would he say? He had no idea what was happening, and he’d likely need Castiel’s input. But maybe if he managed to make it to somewhere… take the longest bus trip until it was suspicious. He was pretty sure he’d have enough bus fare for it. He could at least get them to a small town and then walk somewhere more out-of-the-way.

“Cas,” Jimmy whispers, tipping his head inconspicuously downwards. “I’ve got a plan. We’re gonna need to take a bus out of here. That alright with you?”

He sees the angel pulse a little brighter in agreement, and breaths out a sigh of relief. Looking around to check to see if anyone had heard the exchange, he heads for the nearest bus stop.

x

Jimmy Novak falls asleep again. He dreams.

It’s one of his first proper dreams he’s had in ages, despite being in mental limbo, in which he doesn’t dream of anything. He doesn’t see anything. He doesn’t hear anything. He doesn’t feel anything. He- and everything around him- is reduced to utter nothingness.

This is different.

There’s a room that is mostly empty. There are no chairs; there are no rugs, or shelves. There’s not even a door. The only thing in the whole room is a great fireplace, and a fire that seems much too small for such a great piece crackling in it. Jimmy sits in front of the fire- it warms him. He is very numb and cold- that isn’t different from his limbo.

The room is dark, and stone-walled, stone-floored, stone everything. Everything is gray except the fire, which, despite its size, carries some sort of gravity to it. It lights the fireplace, and the space in front of Jimmy. He likes staring at it. He gets the feeling it’s staring right back at him.

Irked by the silence, he says hello to the fire- though he doesn’t know why, because what could flames say in response? But then the fire replies, with flashes and flickers and colors, sharp snaps of movement and wafts of heat, and it’s then Jimmy learns that fire has a secret language, and it’s one he dabbles in, at least.

So they talk. He tells the fire he’s scared, and he’s alone, but he appreciates the warmth, and he asks if maybe the fire wouldn’t happen to know where the door is, would it? Because he’s got something to do- he can’t remember what, though, and he finds himself torn, because there are two _very_ distinct things he has to do at the same time, and neither of them allow him to do the other. The fire says that he’s welcome for the heat, and that he’s sorry, and Jimmy thinks it also says there isn’t any door. It’s a little hard to tell. He doesn’t know why the fire apologized, and when it does apologize, its flames shrink, embers cooling and blackening, like it wishes it could put itself out. He has no idea what could cause it to be so guilty, so he raises out a hand, and he tells the small little fire and its sad little embers, “It’s okay.”

The fire grows a little tentatively, and then it reaches out to Jimmy, ensnares his hand with flames and ash, and he thinks he should maybe scream, or pull back, or flap his arm wildly around. But in actuality- all he does is wince a little anticipation, brows drawn together in worry, as he waits for the pain. But there isn’t any. Sure, there’s bright, flaring heat on his skin, but his flesh isn’t searing, doesn’t burn. The fire moves up his arm, and latches onto more him- his legs, trailing up to his shoulder, rushing past his thigh and flaring up to his chest. Jimmy thinks he knows what it’s doing, and he sees his suspicions confirmed when the flames creep up to his mouth, halting just at his lips. It flickers, unsure, inquisitive, and he nods his head to grant it permission.

And then, suddenly, fire is dancing all along his lips, searing against the skin, and he has to part his lips, to draw in air. But instead, he breaths in the fire, and it slips into his mouth, down his throat, and it should hurt, but it’s the opposite. Jimmy feels full and warm and _alive_ , the flames licking their way, spreading into every fiber of himself. Settling into his bones, boiling his blood, blazing along every muscle and nerve ending, and he just wants the raging fire to swallow him whole. The fire wants it too, he can tell, but then something happens, and Jimmy nearly jokes.

Suddenly it hurts, it burns, burns, _burns_ , not at all like the comforting warmth it had been earlier. He can feel his insides baking and peeling, his lungs filling up with think, black smoke as he tries to choke it all back up. He tries to cough. He tries to scream. But he can’t make the words, and his eyes sting, welling with tears. He silently begs the fire to leave, if only to stop the pain. He was wrong. This wasn’t what he had wanted at all.

He feels it retract as two of the tears slide down his scorched cheek. His lips and throat are both burned. He squeezes his eyes shut. He coughs, and gasps, and shudders, moving his arms to wrap around his sides, the last of the smoke exiting his mouth in small puffs. A shell shocked Jimmy looks up, searching for the fire, only to open his eyes and jolt on a in a bus seat.

Something that feels suspiciously like the warmth of a fire is at his side.


End file.
